Thursday, August 13, 2015

Sunnudagur Musing

Kissed by Sunday morning,
soft light leaking towards me.
My fears and doubts fall
to the floor,
lie crumpled with Saturdays clothes,
your body holds 
my stare.

Under your cover of logic and plans, 
wild and unabashed 
somewhere in there - 
Sheets slip away and my fingers trace
these secrets onto your skin.

Your voice...
In soft, waking moans,
echoes through, calling my bones
to listen.

Your neck,
curling into my breasts.
Lips, balm to the wide, heavy heart,
open to the world 
but no one.

Remembering now,
while you gracefully,
fast and unknowingly
open a pinhole, unleashing it all - 

Sundays were somedays,
maybe nevers,
content to love unattached - 

But here with you,
reaching for me while sleeping,
I am remembering.

Details of a place I've never been -
You have me longing to be there again,

In this kind of love.
Here.
In Sunday morning.

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Love You Anyway

I should write today.

Words to say what you were, the complex and convoluted ways in which I learned who I was from you.

I should talk about knowing someone so well - the stages of knowing:
The playground beliefs, "My dad is better than your dad" stereotypes;
The moment you fell running bases at ball, and I learned you were human;
The moments I learned what your struggle was really about.

I should find ways to say the gravity of your loss. 
The way my breath goes shallow at the thought of the rest of my life without you.

But I've none. This is it. 
This year, despite all summons of bravery and grace, I just feel the loss.


The loss of the children I may never even have, that you'll surely never meet.

The loss of you hearing me sing now.
The chance of pride, or if not, even the sound of your critique.

I imagine hearing that - the ways I could improve, the things I should be learning - and calling your eyes to mine, to smile and lovingly hold your stare, both of us knowing what that's really about.
I imagine too, the other side of you, that would maybe sit softly listening, and say something like, "I didn't know you could do that..."
with the open vulnerability you sometimes showed, welling up.

I miss you. I miss the quiet of our similarities, like a low hum beneath the surface of who I am.

This is a love that's incomparable. Our acknowledgement of authenticity, messy, sad, sick - all of it. The space between us that allowed honesty, and safety. 
Our willingness to return to it when it was lost to us.

There is no love, born of acceptance, that I've known like yours.

Love You Anyway - Demo from Rick Edgett on Myspace.


Monday, April 20, 2015

Leaders

Tonight.

I took myself to Tom's Little Havana, and sat amongst the first dates, friend meets, candlelight and Van Morrison/Erykah Badu/Elliot Smith.
All these stories, and how I love to be lost in the mix.

Sitting here hoping to go unnoticed, but noticed, sometimes eyed strangely,
sometimes not given a second glance.
Just a girl in a funky shirt,
bright eyes and deep in her own thoughts,
craft beer and computer screen glaring.

I hope they find me brave instead of strange,
and yet,
that thought wasn't even worth writing.

What matters is that my hands are finally moving,
and I'm bothering to be present enough to document what I'm doing,
Because, see, documenting IS presence,
at least,
tonight.

I am seeing my surroundings.
The four gay boys gossiping
about their girlfriend across the aisle.
The hipsters beside me,
toques and plaid and skinny jeans
big words describing the structure of Alice in Wonderland,
high school kids these days,
reasons for living stumbling out of handsome bearded faces.
The private booths I was hoping for,
all occupied with what is, maybe their 3rd date?
and next table down,
no doubt the first.

Those two... they make sense already.
I hope they make it.
Her thin and tall, and hair on fire
Him sweet and shy -
I've never known an unbending man to date a redhead.

And hipsters,
I hope you change the world,
I hope your ideas don't stay in quiet conversations
amongst those who share them.
I hope you scream them out, in an inviting way,
And eventually rise to the calling of control,
learn to balance the naive dreamer that we're all needing to lead us
with the leader.

And the gay boys,
innocent and shameless,
I can't even begin to say how fucking proud I am of you.
Your gossip is good natured,
Your pride is fierce,
and I hope you remember to be as inclusive as you wish
to be accepted.
You're gorgeous, and if you don't remember what you've been through
and take note of who not to do that to,
Your beauty won't mean shit.

All of you, never stop growing.
There are places you're going,
and despite the buddhist mind in me that says so calmly,
be in the now,
I don't want you to stay.

There is so much more on the way.






Friday, March 13, 2015

For the Solo Traveller


For the one who goes alone,

This is for Claire from Idaho, in her youth and nervousness,
Taking advantage of barriers downed,
           with your blue eyes, dreads and shy smile.

For Bernice, and your bravery,
for your 60+ years of curiosity,
living like the locals with a grin as big as the sky
eyes as bright as a child's,
           elegant British accent standing out in the crowd.

For George, my old army friend,
Who wouldn't let me take his picture
But had the best belly chuckle,
And made bus rides shorter
          laughing at toddlers making friends.

For Andrea, with your weight and wonder,
Mind of a philosopher,
Heart with both hope and cynicism,
that hold hands with each other.
        There's no question in another life
         you were my brother.

For Pedro, a different kind of alone,
Battling demons the whole world knows,
Desperate for acceptance,
and meant for so much more.
         You are good, and you are worthy.

For Lino, the small man with the biggest presence,
Who takes no shit and speaks no english
Who has a true talent to antagonize without offending.
Who makes me feel light and joy, for reasons I can't explain.
          There is no language that could translate this.

This is for all of those open
walking different roads,
crossing paths and present
unafraid of the unknown.

And for me, always learning
          How much love this heart can hold.



Wednesday, January 28, 2015

How to Love the Broken Open Woman

Be fiercely independent,
and unafraid of vulnerability.

She will like to do things alone,
well planned and with purpose.
Be involved in your own activities, but want her.

Let her know she is wanted.

She will become absorbed in her passions, her purpose and work.
Sometimes in her analyzing, intellectual mind.
Don't mistake this for cold - just calculated.
Know not to fear the aloneness it leaves you in.
Be alone too.
We're all separate, navigating the edges of cliffs like lone trees,
roots reaching for the slowly eroding ground.
But then, this is not unique.

Whatever you need, know what you need, and have the means to provide it.
She's perceptive, and unless it is pressured, she'll meet you half-way
if ever you don't want as much space.

Whatever you do, don't fear the asking.

If she's gone inside herself for too long,
hand her a stone from a place that you wandered
and let your fingers linger in the passing.

You will stop time, and bring her to the present.
Be aware of her and she will be of you.
This intention will be noticed, and in this moment
she'll be a sea of love
filled by your small act of big bravery.

Let yourself be seen along with her.

Because she is reaching for the bones of you,
wanting to know your insides
what she already senses, whether you're prepared to be seen.
If you're ok with this seeking, you will know what it feels to be safe
in another's full acceptance.

For this woman knows her place in the universe, and yours -
Most of all, that it is perfect.

When she has to go, trust her.
She needs to get lost in the spin of the planet,
the vastness of the wilderness,
the variety of cultures to experience.
She is alive.
She is filling herself with the world, letting it sink in and change her.
The next time your paths cross, her heart open-even-wider
will swallow you whole, hungrier than before.
Don't expect the same energy, for she's ever-changing,
but always, always know her honesty.

I dare you to be moved, for a moment,
to hold her open, smiling stare
with her hand pressed to your chest.

She has all the love,
all the love -

Let it be for you.